A Thousand Winds that Blow
by Quintessentia
Summary: Dean Winchester is in a graveyard with his brother, but his brother is in Hell without him.


HI! I'm back, and I wrote this little ditty last night when I was bored. It's unbetaed and a little confusing but I hope it turs out well enough anyway. It's a coda to 5x22 and there are hints of Wincest, but you don't have to take it that way. Whatever flips your pancakes! :)

I wrote this based on a poem some of you might recognize:

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**Do not stand at my grave and weep,  
I am not there, I do not sleep.**

I am a thousand winds that blow.  
I am the diamond glint on snow.  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,  
I am the swift, uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circling flight.  
I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.  
I am not there, I do not sleep.  
(Do not stand at my grave and cry.  
I am not there, I did not die!)

Enjoy and Review!******

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**

Dean stands in the center of Stull and remembers.

He clenches his fists and remembers his brother's strength, how Sam grew bigger and better than Dean, how his hands grew broader and longer, how the student surpassed the teacher.

He closes his eyes and remembers what Sam saw. How his vision of the world was always so much more different than Dean's, and yet so much more beautiful, so much more complete.

He swallows the dry feeling in his mouth and remembers how Sam tasted. How when he was with Dean, really with him, the world tasted different too. Sharper, cleaner, more alive. Like something worth waking up for.

He presses his cheek to the parched earth at the place where he lost those memories named Sam, where the ground opened up and swallowed his heart at the center of the Land of the Dead, and tries not to breathe.

He lifts his eyes to the blackened sky, where a thousand tiny eyes blink down at him from the heavens, and remembers again.

He remembers a Lady in White, with hair the color of straw and sweetness, and a voice like a thousand echoes across a warm Valley in the Sun. The eyes are souls, she used to say, the souls of a thousand Dead who went to Heaven and look down on Earth to wink at you and remind you of happier times.

He would get to be one of those stars too someday, she had said that also. She wove tales of celestial joys and peaceful souls and memories: Those good kinds of reminders. One day, she told him, you and Sammy will sit up in the sky and wink only at each other from across the Milky Way, and no one else in a thousand galaxies will ever stand between you.

His nails scrape the ground as the memory drifts away, gathering dirt and sorrow from where he lies; prone on the grass on an unmarked grave, and nobody named Sam winks at him from Heaven.

Sam is not smiling from Heaven, he's burning in Hell, and that's one memory Dean doesn't care to revisit.

The stars map their way across the sky in their imperfect, unusual way, and Dean can't pick out any constellations among them. He never could, and neither could Sam, so blind were they to the art of nature that the moments under the stars not spent in silence were spent drawing their own pictures in the sky.

He wants to speak to that sky and tell it all about the person named Sam that will never sit with the other stars, will never wink down at the ones he loves and be able to remind them. Instead, he will freeze and rot in the pit downstairs, and burn with the souls of the real sinners for all of eternity.

_My brother was here_ he wants to say _he walked here and cried here and then went and died here. You don't even care, you don't even know…_

The winds picks up and whistles through the sea of grey stone, coming to tease like fingers on his spine, like breath on the back of his neck.

_Do not stand at my grave and weep—_

It combs through his hair like a gentle caress, while the grass on his cheek prickles against his skin and the dirt on the ground tastes like ash against his lips. He is not alone.

_-I am not there, I do not sleep._

He closes his eyes and finally, finally breaks under the weight of the memory that is _Sammy_, surrendering to the presence that hangs in the wind like the guilt in his soul.

And Dean weeps on a grave in Stull at Sam's feet, trying to forget about his brother who is not really there.

_ Do not stand at my grave and cry,_

_I am not there, I did not die._

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Hope you liked it! (Oh, and is there anyone out there as bored as I am right now? If there is, PM me, please! I'm always ready to make new friends and i'm definitely going to need a break from summer work. Hope to hear from you! Thanks!)


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